


Study Buddies

by blithelybonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Dom/sub, Kinda Cracky, M/M, Muggle Clothes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry would look back on The Incident in the Library with the First-Edition <i>Hogwarts, A History</i>, (not at all fondly and with absolutely nothing that resembled feelings--thank you very much), he blamed the entire thing on the fact that Draco had been wearing pink trainers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Study Buddies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Captainraychill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainraychill/gifts).



> Although Harry is not in a mariachi outfit, this bit of I Don't Know What is inspired very heavily by captainraychill's amazing art which can be found [HERE](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/72033.html?thread=2138209#t2138209) as part of birdsofshore's Anywhere But the Bed Comment Fest a few months ago. Seriously, I don't know. My brain...

When Harry would look back on The Incident in the Library with the First-Edition _Hogwarts, A History_ , (not at all fondly and with absolutely nothing that resembled feelings--thank you very much), he blamed the entire thing on the fact that Draco had been wearing pink trainers. 

Trainers, by the way, that were _not_ regulation Hogwarts uniform shoes, and just because he, like the rest of them, was unprecedentedly an Eighth Year student for whom the rules about curfew and drinking on campus had been ever so subtly relaxed, it did not in any way, shape or form entitle Malfoy to wear pale pink trainers with a pair of perfectly white muggle shorts and a fitted pink tee-shirt.

Hermione always insisted it was the shorts when _she_ looked back on The Incident in the Library with the First-Edition _Hogwarts, A History_ , but she was wrong. It was most assuredly the pink trainers.

\-- -- -- --

“Malfoy!” Harry said, barreling into the library after the prat, with the single-minded determination of a person who’d had at least two glasses of Firewhisky and no supper. He paid no mind to the anguished shushing from frantic-eyed Ravenclaws and ignored Madam Pince’s death glare.

Malfoy paused briefly, head half-turned in Harry’s direction, and his lips quirked up into a smirk before he continued his long-legged stride toward the History of Magic stacks.

“Malfoy, I am bloody well talking to you, you wank-buggering-bastard!” He grinned, quite pleased with the efficacy of his insults, but when he realized that Malfoy either hadn’t heard or had ignored him, he frowned deeply and jogged after the ponce. “Malfoy!” Harry hissed, reaching out a hand and snagging Malfoy by the back of his collar.

“Easy, Scarhead,” Malfoy replied, though he sounded amused, rather than annoyed by Harry’s man-handling. “We’re almost there.”

“Where are we _going_ , though? You didn’t say, and you’re being a ponce, and where are you taking me?”

Malfoy did turn then, and, surprised by his proximity to Malfoy’s red wine-stained lips, Harry let go. His face, though, was still quite close, and Malfoy might as well have been kissing him. “We’re going to study, obviously,” Malfoy said, but the way he said it was almost a purr, oddly predatory somehow, and the involuntary shiver that wracked Harry was not a weird reaction in light of the circumstances. It didn’t matter that it was Malfoy--it would have been the same thing, probably, if Voldemort had been whispering sweet nothings against his lips.

All right, maybe not _Voldemort_.

Harry realized he was standing still, touching his lips, and did Malfoy say they were going to _study_? Why on earth would he study with Malfoy when he had someone as brilliant as Hermione with whom to study?

When he caught up to Malfoy in a quietly empty section of the stacks, he asked him that very question.

“Because I’m much smarter and better-looking than Granger, and more importantly, you _asked_ ,” Malfoy replied, before hopping up onto a table and crossing his legs tailor-fashion. He rested his pointy elbows on his knees and grinned a terrifically unsettling grin. “Did you forget that you asked?”

But he couldn’t stop watching Malfoy’s mouth. “You look like you’re wearing lipstick,” Harry said.

“Do I?” Malfoy slipped his tongue out between his lips and ran it lightly there. “Perhaps I am…”

It was really stupid to keep watching Malfoy’s berry-red mouth. “Are you?” Harry asked. He stepped forward and rested his hands on the table on either side of Malfoy’s knees. “And why are you dressed like this?” he continued, leaning in a bit. He could totally do that predatory, purring thing too.

“Lost a bet,” Malfoy replied. “Blaise picked it out. Do you like?” He uncrossed his legs and stuck them out, essentially trapping Harry between his thighs.

Harry glanced around; nobody was there, or at least, nobody was in this section of the stacks. “I like these,” he said, grabbing one pink trainer-clad foot. “You should wear these more often.”

“I suppose I could,” said Malfoy, flexing and then pointing his foot in Harry’s grip. “But I do so despise giving you what you like. I hate you, after all.”

He didn’t sound like he hated Harry, but Harry knew better than to trust anything Malfoy said--especially when he had that devious, Slytherin look in his eye. It was the same look Malfoy’d got in his eye when he’d _inadvertently_ flashed Harry in the showers after the Gryffindor-Slytherin match earlier that year and when he’d _accidentally_ found himself pantsless in Harry’s bed after the Valentine’s Day party that Parvati and Lavender had thrown and definitely when he’d _unintentionally_ sucked Harry off during the torrential downpour last weekend.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry said, a few seconds later, when his mouth caught back up with his brain, which then promptly shut itself off because Malfoy had taken the bit of distraction as an invitation to undo his flies and get his cock out.

Malfoy had a really lovely cock--not that Harry had all that much experience with cocks other than his own (and Ron’s just that once, but they steadfastly did _not_ talk about it)--and knew how to stroke it with the kind of gusto that Harry assumed was a Gryffindor thing, rather than a Slytherin thing.

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy? For fuck’s sake, people could see!” Harry insisted, crowding forward to shield Malfoy from prying eyes, mostly, and not because he wanted to touch for himself.

“We’re only studying, Potty,” Malfoy said, but the hitch in his breathing softened the insult.

“What, er, what are we supposed to be studying then?” Harry asked, looking down between their bodies, as Malfoy’s hand sped up.

Malfoy glanced up at him, eyes heavy-lidded, and his lips curved up into that stupid smirk again. Harry really bloody hated it when he did that--like he knew something that Harry didn’t and loved lording it over him. “We’re studying anatomy, obviously,” Malfoy drawled.

Well, that certainly explained everything.

Harry slapped Malfoy’s hand away from his cock and replaced it with his own, starting a firm, slow stroke with a twist of the wrist at the head that he knew Malfoy liked. (It didn’t matter how he knew that, obviously.) Malfoy’s head dropped back, as he let out a long, low moan of pleasure that brought a grin to Harry’s lips. Malfoy did always manage to make the most delicious sounds. “You’d better be quiet,” he said, “or else we won’t be able to study anymore.”

Malfoy lifted his wand and cast a lazy _Muffliato_. “Better, oh heroic one?” he asked, rolling his eyes as Harry glanced furtively about to make sure they were still alone.

Harry turned back to him, a withering look on his face. “Why do you always have to insult me? You’re probably the rudest person that I know. I don’t even know why I continue to associate with you,” he said, slowing the motion of his hand to a languid pace.

“You don’t associate with me, Scarhead,” Malfoy replied easily. “And insulting you is my favorite--ah, fucking hell, that’s good!”

“You should be nicer to me,” Harry insisted. “I bet if you weren’t such a git all the time, I might _want_ to associate with you.”

“I’ll bear that in mind--buggering fuck, faster, would you?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and stepped back, letting go of Malfoy’s cock. “No. You deserve...you need to be taught a lesson, I think.” It was quite possibly the best idea Harry had ever had (while drinking), and the moment the words came off his tongue, he grinned widely, an idea of just how to do it forming quite quickly. “You need to be taught how to be a good boy, which will then make me want to associate with you, and I think that’s probably a win-win for all of us, don’t you think?”

“You’re babbling, Potty,” Malfoy replied, looking thoroughly put out, even as he began to stroke his own cock again.

“Sod off, Malfoy, I think I know what I’m talking about here.”

“I think you’re drunk.”

Harry grinned. “I think you’re scared.” He crowded forward again, slipping between Malfoy’s knees and brushing up against Malfoy’s cock. That he was quite hard himself was entirely besides the point, of course, because this was just about getting into Malfoy’s space and into his face, just like old times. Nothing had been more fun than scrapping with Malfoy--minus, of course, that time they’d nearly killed each other, but hadn’t they also saved each other enough times to make it water under the bridge at this point?

Malfoy eyed him warily, but then his expression changed, just for a second, but it was enough. Harry had him right where he wanted him--not that he really _wanted_ Malfoy, but well, he was there, and he looked bloody delectable, and those trainers were perfect, and all...

“What have you got in mind?”

Harry grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Strip,” he said, in a low voice.

“Forceful, are we?” Malfoy asked, but when Harry merely raised an eyebrow, he slid his hands beneath the waistband of his tee-shirt and slowly lifted it up over his head. “Like so? Or wouldn’t you rather unwrap me yourself?”

“Do what I said, or I’m going to punish you even more,” Harry replied, even as he took a step forward with the absolute intent of taking off those tight white shorts.

“Oh, _very_ forceful, are we,” Malfoy replied. He pushed down his already-undone shorts and carefully stepped out of them. Of course, he wasn’t wearing any pants, but then again, Harry had rather suspected from the way the bloody things had fit so perfectly over Malfoy’s arse. Malfoy then crouched down to remove his trainers, but Harry held out a hand to stop him.

“Leave those on,” he ordered. Malfoy looked up at him, cheeky and insouciant, and Harry gripped his chin to pull Malfoy up to standing again. “Now you’d better do as I say, you naughty thing, or you’re in for it.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Harry thought he was really afraid, but Malfoy’s pupils were dilated and a slow grin spread his lips. “I know I’ve been a terrible student,” Malfoy said, in a voice much younger than he actually had, “but I’m sure I can make it up you. You’re such a good tutor, Potter.”

“Turn around and put your hands on the table,” Harry said. Malfoy took a moment, but he complied, and then Harry nudged his legs apart a little more. He ran a hand along the length of Malfoy’s spine. Malfoy arched, pushing his arse out a bit, and Harry gave it a slap. Malfoy inhaled sharply, wincing away from the sting. “Sorry, did that, er, was that too--”

“--again, please,” Malfoy interrupted, in a voice so quiet, Harry almost wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“What was that?”

“I said, you can do it again, Potty. I”m not made of porcelain or anything,” Malfoy said, more assertively.

Harry brought his hand down harder this time. “Don’t be rude!” he admonished.

“I’ll do whatever I bloody well want--”

“--did I stutter?” Harry smacked Malfoy’s arse again, and this time, Malfoy pitched forward a bit, elbows buckling. “Fuck! Shit, bugger, Malfoy, was that too hard?”

“Harry, if you don’t stop apologizing, I’m getting dressed and leaving. Now spank me harder, you git, because I’m rude and naughty and very, very, _very_ fucking bad!”

If that wasn’t an invitation, Harry didn’t know what was. He smacked Malfoy’s arse again, twice in quick succession, and fuck it all, if he wasn’t getting _harder_ from this! The sound of his hand against Malfoy’s smooth skin, the red flush coming to his milk-white cheek, the sting in his palm--all of it traveled the length of Harry’s body and settled firmly in his rising cock.

“Fuck, Potter, please!” Malfoy cried out, and a sudden bit of inspiration caught Harry. They were in a library, weren’t they? And didn’t Malfoy say he wanted to study?

Harry turned to the shelves behind him and took down the first sturdy-looking tome he could find. It happened to be a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ that looked like it had seen better days. The irony was not lost on him. He grinned then and stepped closer, raising the book up and ready to swing. “You asked for it, didn’t you?” he said, gently massaging Malfoy’s arse-cheek. “By being bad?”

“I did,” Malfoy replied, “I was so bad.”

“You deserve to be spanked like this, don’t you?”

“Yes! I do, fuck, Potter, yes, yes I do!”

Harry let fly and smacked Malfoy’s bum with the book. Malfoy cried out and slumped forward, but Harry knew better than to be concerned this time. Malfoy’s cry was pure pleasure, almost a whine of need, and it was absolutely everything.

“Call me Harry like you did before,” Harry said, as if that was the reasonable response.

“Yes, Harry, whatever you want. Again, please, again,” Malfoy answered.

Malfoy’s bum was bright red, and Harry palmed it, feeling the heat beneath his palms. It was incredibly arousing, and he had to reach down to adjust himself in his trousers. He grinned widely and raised the book again.

“Oh my God, Harry, that’s an antique!”

Harry was mid-swing, and the thock! of the book against Malfoy’s inflamed arse seemed louder than it had been only moments before. He dropped it immediately and turned around to see Hermione standing there, her cheeks bright red as she tried and failed not to watch what was happening in front of her. Malfoy, however, was clearly down too far to care and making those perfectly wanton sounds, as his body quivered with need.

Harry decided right then that even though Malfoy was his enemy, he wasn’t about to leave the poor thing hanging, despite Hermione’s quite-valid concerns about Hogwarts Library property and ancient, valuable books. He trusted that Hermione would get the idea to leave, as he dropped to his knees and ran his nose along the curve of Malfoy’s perfect backside. “Fuck, Draco...” he groaned.

“H-harry, please,” Malfoy returned, pushing his arse back against Harry’s face, begging for it.

When presented with such an inviting sight, Harry could hardly be held responsible for the noise that escaped from the back of his throat--something muddled and needy and easily as wanton as Malfoy’s own sex noises. He hadn’t eaten an arse before, but he was fairly confident that Malfoy wasn’t going to complain, even if his technique might not have been expert.

He raised his hands and carefully spread Malfoy’s cheeks, smiling as Malfoy gasped and squirmed a little. Then, he leaned in and experimentally touched the tip of his tongue to Malfoy’s hole, tracing the rim of hardened muscle.

“BLOODY FUCK!” Malfoy shouted, and belatedly, Harry remembered that the _Muffliato_ really only muffled sound instead of completely silencing it, so he hastily threw up a stronger charm to hopefully prevent any of the many library patrons just over the way from coming over to investigate. (Although the thought of being caught had an incredibly interesting effect on his own erection, which was already straining desperately as it was in his pants.)

Harry soothed a hand over Malfoy’s bum and then leaned in again to run his tongue more firmly around the rim. Malfoy all but wriggled in Harry’s grasp, so Harry was forced to grip Malfoy’s hips and press him further into the table to keep him from bucking wildly out of Harry’s control. “Do you like it when I do this?” he asked, lips ghosting over Malfoy’s hole.

“Fuck, yes, Harry, yes, please!” Malfoy begged, hands scrabbling at the table for purchase as he tried to get his arse closer. “Please, more, please!”

Harry kissed the little pucker and teased the tip of his tongue against it, until Malfoy relaxed enough to let it slip past the breach. Malfoy whimpered, and Harry honestly didn’t think he’d ever heard anything more perfect.

He reached forward then and fumbled only for a moment until he got Malfoy’s cock in hand again. He stroked evenly, but quickly, as he continued to tongue Malfoy’s hole, tasting him deeply. Malfoy could barely keep himself on his feet, and Harry could tell that it wouldn’t be long. Malfoy’s muscles were stretched taut, twitching under his skin, and his hole clenched and unclenched around Harry’s tongue.

“I’m so-so c-close, fuck, fuck, fuck--HARRY!” Malfoy stilled for a bare second before he began jerking and spasming out his release, painting Harry’s hand with thick, hot spurts of come. Harry pulled leisurely at his cock, letting him ride it out, and ran his other hand gently over the still quite angry-red bum.

After what felt like an hour, Malfoy sank to the ground, boneless and spent, wincing only a moment as he sat on his abused arse before an expression of utter bliss came back to his face. It looked--well, frankly it looked really good on him, and Harry would have been more than happy to just sit there and watch as Malfoy came back to himself, except for the fact that he was hard as diamonds and very much in need of coming himself.

“Come here,” Malfoy breathed and, once Harry had settled himself at Malfoy’s side, reached over and began to pull Harry off, though where he found the energy, Harry had no idea. He was most assuredly grateful for the gesture and moments later, he spent himself in Malfoy’s hand.

“Is it safe to come back in?”

Harry turned and looked at Malfoy, a sudden embarrassed flush rising his in his cheeks, as he quickly tucked himself back into his pants and did up his flies. “So, er, that is you … why exactly didn’t you go back to the party?” Harry asked, as Hermione tentatively came around the bookshelf.

“Someone had to make sure that no one came back and caught you, or, I suppose that no one _else_ did,” she replied, her defiance obvious, despite her red face.

“We appreciate it very much, Granger,” Malfoy said. He grinned, and Harry slapped a frustrated hand against his forehead--Malfoy had yet to put his clothing back on, sitting there in only those bloody fantastic pink trainers. “Potty was just so eager to study, I couldn’t help but oblige him. We all know he needs so much help. NEWTs are just around the corner, right?”

Harry turned a withering gaze on Malfoy. “You are the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Malfoy just grinned and blew Harry a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Click [HERE](http://blithelybonny.livejournal.com/93395.html) to go back to LJ!


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